


Break and Enter

by vellaphoria



Series: postscript. [2]
Category: DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Movie Night, Shenanigans, vaguely post-Red Robin continuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 03:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaphoria/pseuds/vellaphoria
Summary: Sometimes when you want to have a movie night, breaking into your ex's secret vigilante base is the only way to do it.At least, that's what Tam usually tells herself when Pru drags her into this sort of thing.





	Break and Enter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artificiallifecreator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallifecreator/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for artificiallifecreator who is fantastic for both beta-ing my writing and swapping weird plot ideas with me at ungodly hours of the morning. 
> 
> She asked for “at least Pru and Tam, (Tim, Steph, Cass, Z, or Owens optional), and a movie night!”
> 
> This would be rated G, but Pru’s inclusion in a fic tends to automatically bump the rating for a T, mostly due to swearing, innuendo, and alcohol consumption.
> 
> Also there’s a movie or two. 
> 
> Happy Birthday! (hope you like it :D )

Tam ducks through the emergency access hatch, nodding at Pru as she closes and re-locks it behind them.

It’s absolutely less conspicuous than the front door, and it has the added benefit of circumnavigating all the security measures Pru _hadn’t_ known how to deactivate.

Admittedly, most of them were upstairs, in the aboveground apartment Tim used as a front for this place. Tam wouldn’t have minded going through there instead of skulking through Gotham’s underground maintenance tunnels – even if it meant a higher chance that the security system would catch them. Or that someone would have had to stick their arm in a fish tank to pull a literal hidden lever.

But here they are, standing in front of a duct they’d had to actually crawl through to get to one of the emergency exits in Tim’s base. Well, one of his bases. But last Tam heard, he was leasing the renovated theater to the Birds of Prey, and god knows he keeps more safe houses off the Batcave’s records than he keeps on them.

She isn’t sure even _Batman_ – either of them – knows where they all are. But such is the life of a Gotham vigilante so paranoid he doesn’t even trust his allies, she supposes.

Pru takes off almost immediately, pulling Tam back to their present situation as she makes her way to the small kitchenette tucked into the second sub-level of the base.

“You sure it’s bright enough in here for this?” Tam asks, scuffing a foot against the long auxiliary light strip wedged between the floor and the wall of the hallway. It’s just enough to see where they’re going in the otherwise dark, cavernous space Tim’s managed to carve out of the middle of Gotham’s central residential district, but for anything more than that…

Pru scoffs. “League training. I could do this in my sleep with one hand tied behind my back.”

Tam _highly_ doubts that that creep in the ridiculous green cape – the one whose name Tim keeps telling her and she keeps forgetting – would approve of high-level assassin training being used for this sort of thing.

“Sure, okay. But why do we need to be here – _here_ specifically – for this? Couldn’t we have just gone to the theater? Or borrowed the screening room at Wayne Enterprises? I _do_ have clearance to use the building at this time of night.”

“Got a lifetime ban from Gotham’s theater after that shite with the last Marvel movie,” Pru shrugs, furrowing her brow like she’s trying to remember something, “The Wayne Enterprises building too, actually. Though that’s just Birdy messin’ with me for the last time I got bored and ‘accidently’ let the ninjas into his office. Fucker’s still mad at me for that one.”

Tam raises an eyebrow.

“You do realize that his office is also _my office?_ He doesn’t even keep any of his Red Robin stuff there. What would the League want with it?”

Pru climbs up on the counter, rummaging in one of the kitchenette’s highest shelves until she finds a plastic container of loose kernels. She tosses it back to Tam who doesn’t fumble the catch _at all_ , thank you very much _._

“Who bloody knows?” Pru asks, already elbows deep in the cabinet again, this time looking for the butter. “It’s Ra’s. I swear to god he just does random shit on purpose to try an’ prove he’s ‘unpredictable’ or somethin’.”

Tim may or may not have a running ‘Creepy Assassin Bastard’s Current Goals’ file that Tam isn’t supposed to know about. This month’s top contenders are ‘just to be a dick,’ ‘willing defection,’ and ‘unspeakable acts.’

Tam may or may not drink more than she should to try and forget that last one.

“But,” Pru swings around, a half-full, ridiculously oversized jug of liquid butter in hand, “that’s enough about that. _We’ve_ got popcorn to make.”

“It’s basically his own Batcave – why does it need a _popcorn machine_.”

“Why does he need his own Batcave?” Pru asks, rhetorically.

Just past the kitchen, Pru pushes open the double doors to a room dominated by a multi-sectioned couch and a screen that seems almost big enough to _be_ in a movie theater.

The back corner of the room is absolutely dominated by Tim’s popcorn maker. Pru walks over to it, reclaiming the unpopped popcorn from Tam as she goes. The thing is _massive_ ; all red and chrome resting incongruously against the room’s dark carpeting. It’s nearly as tall as Tam. It _is_ as tall as Pru.

After a quick check to make sure the thing’s actually plugged in, Pru sets about pre-heating it and pouring the kernels. Tam perches on the back of the couch, her hands planted to keep her from falling back and being swallowed by overstuffed cushions.

“You know, I’ve had some time to think about it, and you don’t really strike me as a popcorn kind of person,” Tam muses, the words escaping her brain-to-mouth filter before she can stop them.

“Everyone likes popcorn,” Pru shoots back, more amused than annoyed.

“I’m sure there are _some_ people who don’t.” Tam starts. She thinks about it. “Or people who are allergic to it or something…”

“And they’re _heathens_ , but – ” Pru whips around, the first of the kernels beginning to pop behind her, “what makes you think I’m one of ‘em. What _‘kind of person_ do I strike you as?”

_The deadly and kinda scary kind even when you’re not trying,_ Tam doesn’t say.

Pru looks back at her intently, like the question about popcorn was more than just idle curiosity on Tam’s part.

“I… don’t know? Something just seems weird about an assassin liking something so _normal_ , I guess.”

“ _Hey._ ” Pru says, taking a few steps toward Tam and planting her hands on her hips. “I like _plenty_ of normal things. I can enjoy stuffin’ my face with popcorn _and_ be able to kill a man with my bare hands. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was.” Tam throws her hands up in surrender, trying to hide a smile at Pru’s defensiveness. Pru rolls her eyes.

In the background, the popcorn machine pops on, slowly filling itself.

“Buuuut,” Tam leans back when Pru steps closer, nearly unbalancing herself, “does that ‘normalness’ extend to your choice in movies? We’re here for a _reason_ after all.”

“Yeah, ta’ fuck with Tim’s shit so he makes that _face_ –“

“ _No._ Well, _yes_. But that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about _movie night._ ”

“Eh,” Pru shrugs, “that too.”

“So….”

“So… what?”

“So _what do you want to watch?”_

Pru takes the space next to her, balancing cross-legged on the ledge of the couch’s back.

“Dunno. What’s good?”

“Uh. That depends I guess. What _kind_ of move do you want to watch. Action? Suspense? Mystery?” Tam bumps her shoulder into Pru’s waggling her eyebrows. “…romance?”

“Ugh, gross,” Pru makes a face. “I have’ta put up with _more_ than enough gits’ an’ their relationship drama in my day job. Don’t need more’a that in my time off.”

“The ninjas have relationship drama?” Tam asks, genuinely curious. She’d thought they were sworn to celibacy or something.

“ _Too much of it_ ,” Pru groans. “There’s this one arsehole who… _gah_ , you don’t wanna hear it. He’s a real twat and I’ll leave it at that.”

“Okaaaay. So you _don’t_ want to watch a rom com?”

“Do I look like Dick Grayson to you?”

Tam laughs so hard she actually falls backwards. Her shoulders sink into the couch’s plush cushions even as her legs are still hooked over the back of it. It’s a minute or two before she stops giggling enough to form a semi-coherent sentence.

“I think that – that’s –” another wheeze. Tam wraps arms around herself, hopelessly chuckling. “It’s just a…” she sucks in a deep breath trying to collect herself. “I think that’s just a tabloid rumor. How do you even _know_ him?”

“What?” Pru asks, falling back to where Tam’s lying so that they’re even. “Kinda hard to know Tim and not know the idiot that sent him my way in the first place. ‘Sides. Nothin’ wrong with a woman appreciatin’ a nice piece of arse.”

“Best in Gotham, supposedly.”

“Heh. He’s got a bit of competition though. Spandex doesn’t leave much to the imagination with Gotham’s cowls ‘n capes. Hell, even Birdy gives that list a run for its money and _he’s_ basically a toothpick.” She stares out into the middle distance of the ceiling, looking like she wants to say more but isn’t really sure it’s a good idea.

“What?” Tam asks, looking over and prodding Pru in the shoulder with her finger.

When Pru looks back, her expression is _completely_ inappropriate. “I’d still do him,” she says, smirking, “if only to tease him about it later.”

“ _Pru._ ” Tam probably looks aghast. Her face feels like it’s making an aghast sort of expression.

“ _What?_ ” Pru asks, crossing her arms behind her head without even the slightest hint of contrition. “Can’t tell me you haven’t been there. The two of you were _engaged_.”

“Sure. _Fake_ engaged. We only dated for a little while before…” It’s been so long since it happened, but Tam _still_ isn’t sure how to talk about it. Having your boyfriend who’s pretending to be your fiancé fake your dad’s assassination and not tell you the truth for _weeks_ after…

Tam knows why he did it. She _understands_ why he did it and why it was necessary.

But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. That it doesn’t _still_ hurt.

Pru seems to sense the shift in mood. She uncrosses her arms, shifting until it seems like her whole being is focused in Tam’s direction. Like the tide rising to meet the moon.

“Hey,” she says, more quietly than Tam would have thought her capable of. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tam chokes out a laugh, trying to swallow down the mess of emotions that getting into the nighttime side of her father’s company has given her. “Not really, no. It’s just, you know. Everything.”

She doesn’t think Pru can empathize. Pru doesn’t look like she thinks she can empathize either. It’s enough to send Tam laughing again. But this time it’s a quiet, sad sort of chuckle.

“It’s not really fine. But I’m dealing with it in my own way.” Tam shifts up, pushing herself out of the cushion cocoon of the couch and onto its back again. “How about we just have some fun. I haven’t had a movie night in ages and, honestly? That sounds perfect right about now.”

Pru pushes herself off too, using the momentum to vault back onto her feet. “Well, you’re more honest than _he_ ever is. I’ll give you that,” she says. In the corner, the popcorn machine seems to have run its course. Pru opens it with a flourish.

“So. Do ya want extra butter or _extra extra_ butter. Those are the only two options.”

Tam pretends to think about it.

“What about _extra extra extra_ butter?”

Pru whistles. “I stand corrected! You’re a woman after my own heart, ya know?”

“ _Am_ I now?” Tam asks, winking at Pru and trying not to laugh. The change in tone is more than a bit of a relief, but for all the time that Tam’s known her, Pru’s always been good at that sort of thing.

“Dunno. Depends how you feel about handcuffs.”

“Hmm. Who’s gonna be wearing them?”

Pru throws her head back, laughing. “That’s entirely up to you, sweetheart.”

She tosses back one of the plastic buckets that had been sitting next to the machine. Tam catches it with a firm grip and walks over to help judge exactly how much butter they need to make it _extra extra extra_.

That turns out to be most of what was left in the bottle, actually. She might feel a little worse about using it up if Tim wasn’t the benefactor of two separate insanely large trust funds.

“So,” Pru starts, wrapping a callused hand loosely around Tam’s wrist and dragging her back to the couch. “Any progress on the movie choice front?”

They leave the popcorn on the coffee table between the couch and the screen, within easy reaching distance.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking _you_ that?” Tam has barely sat down before Pru pulls her toward the center of the couch, looping an arm around her shoulder to keep her in place. The move feels practiced, like she’s used to trying to keep someone from escaping the horrors of movie night.

And, really, there’s only one person who _that_ could possibly be.

Pru produces the television’s remote from somewhere that might actually be a pocket dimension, jamming her thumb into the power and Netflix buttons in rapid succession. The screen flickers to life, bathing the room in the pale glow of the site’s dark background.

She groans at the screen, rolling her eyes. “ _Come on._ Where the fuck is his recently watched list?”

Tam leans closer into Pru’s shoulder. “You just want to see it so you can mess with him, don’t you?”

“Is that even a question?”

“Not really, no.” Tam smiles, leaving her to it.

Eventually, Pru just starts scrolling through the different subcategories listed. She has a point: either Tim’s never watched anything on this account before or he disabled its history and predictive algorithms before he did. Tam’s money is on option number two; she’s known Tim for a while now – long enough to call him a good friend, even, for all that he’s technically her ex – but he’s still notoriously cagey about his personal preferences.

By the time Pru’s made a selection, Tam’s so deep in her own thought process that she doesn’t quite manage to snap herself out of it until Pru literally shoves one of the overfull popcorn buckets in her face.

“Earth to Tamara,” she says, rattling the bucket a bit, “movie’s started.”

“Huh?” She looks to the screen. They’re a little ways into the movie already, but Tam would know that scene _anywhere_. She looks at Pru, somewhat incredulously.

“Thought you said no relationship drama?”

Pru shrugs. “Nothin’ wrong with a _little_ drama so long as it’s interspersed with stabbing. How else do you think I put up with all these asshole vigilantes?”

“Fair enough,” Tam laughs, “stabbing and relationship drama _does_ seem to be all that goes on in Gotham these days.”

Pru puts her feet up on the coffee table in front of them, barely missing kicking her popcorn off of it as she digs a hand into Tam’s bucket instead.

Tam raises an eyebrow but doesn’t stop her. There _is_ more where that came from, after all.

“Sometimes both at the same time,” Pru says, even though she’s still chewing. “The number ‘a times I’ve had’ta stitch Birdy’s knife wounds shut because he pissed someone off ain’t exactly _low_. I _am_ gettin’ pretty good at it though.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Tam mutters, turning her attention back to the screen. Pru echoes the shift, and they lapse into silence. On screen, a duel between two men who are not left handed rages, interspersed with witty banter.

It’s a while before either of them speaks, though Tam swears she hears Pru muttering along with the words in more than a few of the scenes. Hell, she’s even genuinely _smiling_ by the end of it – one of those happy, uncomplicated smiles that Tam swears she hasn’t seen on _any_ of their faces since before she got caught up in Gotham’s nightlife.

It’s infectious, and before long Tam finds herself smiling too. Between her running Red Robin’s support team and Pru’s part time work with the League, it’s rare that they get these kind of free, explosion-less nights. She still isn’t quite certain how she an a _literal assassin working part time for a creepy, megalomaniacal eco terrorist_ became friends, but Tam resolved a long time ago to enjoy the good things in her life for as long as she can.

Since Tam’s pick is next, she grabs the remote and starts playing one of the action flicks in the recent releases section, which Pru seems to find hilarious for some reason. But it’s worth it to watch Pru deconstruct each scene, snarking about improper gun handling, poorly choreographed fight scenes, and exactly why _you can’t do that with a helicopter, that’s just bloody physics you gits._

Right around the final fight scene, Pru grumbles something uncharitable about the love interest’s portrayal of having her throat slit. And, really. If Tam had remembered that that was in this movie, she wouldn’t have even brought it up. But Pru just takes her arm off Tam’s shoulder and stands up from the couch, walking around behind it to rummage in one of the cabinets. She comes back with a bottle and two shot glasses in hand, slamming them down on the coffee table a bit harder than strictly necessary.

“Why is that even in here?” Tam stares on as Pru uncaps the bottle and pours out two shots. She knocks one of the glasses back and refills it before handing the other one to Tam.

“Situational necessity,” Pru leans forward, shoulders on her knees, looking like she’s trying to stare into the bottle’s soul.

In the background, the movie’s protagonist throws himself from his car just before it smashes into a building. The entire thing bursts into flames behind him. Pru scoffs.

“How specific,” Tam says, sipping a bit of the shot before nudging Pru in the side. At the taste, she makes a face. “Probably going to need a mixer for this. I’m not really much for straight whiskey.”

It seems to shake Pru out of whatever headspace she had gotten caught in, sending her jolting upright.

“ _Fuck_. Sorry, I completely forgot. Just let me…” Pru stands, not bothering with even _pretending_ to be normal when she vaults back over the couch, _launching_ herself out of the room. In the distance Tam hears what sounds like Pru messing with Tim’s glassware and refrigerator settings. When she comes back, she hands Tam a bigger glass over the back of the couch before climbing over herself, at a much slower pace this time.

The glass fizzes with cola, bubbling around a couple of ice cubes.

“You remembered,” Tam smiles at Pru, reaching for her shot to mix it in the drink.

Pru smiles back. “Last one he had. The rest of that fridge is just half-eaten prepared meals from his dad’s butler and energy drinks.”

Tam makes a face. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Though no one should tell Alfred, or surprise would be the _least_ of Tim’s worries.

Pru knocks back her second shot, leaving the glass empty this time as she leans back and replaces her arm around Tam’s shoulders, slumping a little more than normal. On the screen, the hero collapses to his knees and lets out a final overdramatic “ _Noooooo!_ ” before the picture fades to black and the credits start scrolling.

Pru actually _cackles_ at it, doubling over a little as she laughs.

“I didn’t think the acting was _that_ bad,” Tam says, bemused.

“No, not that,” Pru waves her off, giving herself time for her laughter to die down before she speaks again. “Somethin’ just occurred to me after looking through Tim’s fridge; maybe Ra’s would stop tryin’ to recruit him if he actually _saw_ photographic evidence of the the food waste that’s goin’ on in there.”

So _that’s_ the creepy old bastard’s name. Tam chuckles, and that just sets Pru off again.

“It’s worth a shot,” Tam says. Without the light from constant filmed explosions, the room is much darker, and Tam has to feel around the couch to find the remote. “But send me a picture of the look on his face when you tell him.”

Her hand closes around it just as a shadow blocks out the room’s doorway.

“When she tells me what?” A voice asks from behind them, making Tam nearly jump out of her own skin as she whirls around in surprise, throwing the remote at the intruder. Pru turns more slowly, rolling her eyes at the dramatic entrance.

The emergency light-silhouetted shadow that is undoubtedly Tim catches the remote in one hand, glancing down at it and making a small, confused sounding noise.

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” Pru mutters. “I swear to god you’re _actually_ Beetlejuice.”

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” Tim snarks back, making his way from the hall to the side of the couch and collapsing face-first onto the cushions. Tam reaches over to steal the remote from his hand and redirects the screen to something brighter, casting more light across the room.

“I’d ask what you’re doing in my base,” Tim mumbles into the couch, “but I really don’t care.”

Pru glances at Tam, looking put out that he isn’t more annoyed.

Where he collapsed, Tim is already half out of the suit he’d worn for the gala that was supposed to keep him tied up until early in the morning. A quick check of Tam’s phone tells her that it’s barely eleven.

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” She asks.

He mumbles something long and aggravated-sounding, but the only parts Tam actually catches are “PR disaster,” “spiked champagne,” and “ _fuck_ Vicki Vale.”

Either that’s enough for Pru or she heard more than Tim did because she _breaks down_ laughing, moving her arm off Tam’s shoulders and letting herself collapse on Tim’s back. He grunts at the impact but doesn’t make a move to push her off.

Tam reaches over again to bury her hand in his hair and pull his face up from the cushion.

“I have no idea what you just said, but as your chief of staff, if I have to deal with _any_ of the fallout from this, you’re giving me hazard pay _and_ overtime.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim mutters. Tam releases his head, letting it fall back into the couch.

“Such a pushover,” Pru says, sitting back up to lean back against Tam. “If administrative competence is all it takes to make you agreeable, I’m sure Ra’s woulda expanded the League’s bureaucracy _years_ ago.”

Tim rolls over, sitting up and shucking off his dress jacket and button down in favor of the undershirt beneath it. They fall to the floor in a heap that Tam is sure would give Alfred a heart attack.

“You’re forgetting that he’s _Ra’s_ ,” Tim says, miffed. “The only way I ever say yes to _anything_ he wants anymore is if he literally steals nuclear launch codes and he knows it.”

Pru smacks him on the back of the head. “Not his M.O., Birdbrain. Too much environmental damage.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Tim emphasizes. “He’ll never do it, which I why I never have to say yes to him.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Tam cuts him off. “Tonight is our night off. I’d rather not spend it talking about they guy who kidnapped us once.”

“Kidnapped _you_ once, maybe,” Tim leans across Pru to mock-glare at Tam, “I’m up to like _twenty_ by now.”

“Or maybe you just _let_ yourself get caught.” Pru says, smirking. Tim bats at her, but she dodges back out of reach, knocking Tam back against the empty space on the couch behind her. “ _What?_ You’re always complaining ‘bout how getting captured is the only way you can get your hands on – an’ I quote – ‘that really nice tea that refuses all attempts at a content analysis’.”

“That tea is _so good_ though. I hate how good it is.”

Pru gets off Tam just so she can laugh in Tim’s face. He scowls resignedly.

Tam uses her newly evacuated personal space to reclaim her drink, sipping it in preparation for a long night that will probably only be mitigated by more drinking.

To stop the ribbing, Tim changes the subject entirely.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he says, echoing Tam’s earlier interruption, “when did you guys decide to Netflix and chill without me?”

And then Tam nearly spits out her drink, spluttering as she narrowly avoids wasting perfectly good alcohol.

“Sure someone didn’t spike _your_ campaign?” Pru chokes out, having had a similar reaction. “‘Cause I _don’t_ think you’re using that phrase right.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Tim says, “ _you’ve_ said _way_ worse things that that.”

“Yeah, but it’s _weird as fuck_ comin’ outta your mouth, you arsehole.”

Tim throws his hands up in defeat, “ _Whatever_. Just hand me one of those. I’ve spent all night dealing with the petty revenge scheme of an idiot who the press thinks is _dead_. I _really_ need a drink.”

“See?” Pru looks over at Tam, reaching for the bottle again. “Situational necessity.”

She appropriates Tam’s mostly unused shot glass and fills it, handing it over to Tim. He knocks it back with the ease of someone who’s been spending far too much of their free time around Pru, slamming it back down on the coffee table.

“Ugh, _gross_ ,” he says, screwing up his face in a disgusted expression, “give me another.”

Pru laughs, pouring out two more shots – one for herself and one for Tim – before leaning over to top off Tam’s glass, even though it’s more ice than soda at this point. Tam puts up a hand, stopping her. At least _one_ of them needs to keep a clear-ish head.

Pru just shrugs, going back to egg on Tim.

“You’re such a bad enabler,” Tam mutters, noting how much is left in the bottle and estimating the point at which she’ll have to cut them off.

“It’s a gift,” Pru shoots back, moving out of the way as Tim snakes around her, managing to reclaim the remote from where Tam set it down. He brings the screen back to Netflix’s selection page. The face he makes at the action movie they just watched is honestly pretty priceless.

“What the hell,” Tim mutters, glancing between the two of them like he isn’t sure who actually _chose_ to watch it, “one or both of you has horrible taste in movies and I’m hereby commandeering the remote for the rest of the night.”

“It’s informative,” Pru says, defending Tam’s choice. “Like an instruction manual on how _not_ to do our night jobs.”

Tim looks at her skeptically but seems to accept the explanation.

“So,” Tam cuts in, “what _are_ we watching? Since _you_ have such _elevated_ taste in movies?”

“Ugggh,” Pru throws herself across the couch draping herself on Tim’s shoulder. “If you pick _one more_ B-list sci-fi movie from the eighties, I will _actually_ hog tie you and deliver you to Ra’s.”

“ _Rude.”_ Tim pushes her off. _“_ Those are _masterpieces_ , thank you very much.”

Tam takes another drink. “They really aren’t,” she says, side-eying him.

“ _Fine._ But it’s _still_ going to be sci-fi.” Tim takes the remote, flipping through options until he finds what he’s looking for. “We’re watching Pacific Rim.”

Tam shrugs, ambivalent.

“Which one?” Pru asks, ducking around the headlock Tim tries to put her in.

“ _There is only one,_ ” he says, darkly, glaring at her like she’d just insinuated he should never have been Robin all those years ago.

Pru puts her hands up, surrendering. Tim’s still scowling but it seems to appease him a little.

She waits just long enough for him to turn back to the screen before she makes her move, grabbing for him and pulling him back towards her. It creates a domino effect, sending Pru crashing back into Tam, who falls back against the pillows she had surreptitiously moved into the couch’s empty space in case this happened _again_.

Tim grumbles a bit at the manhandling but otherwise just accepts that the assassin he befriended is capable of both trying to murder him and being inescapably tactile. He presses play, giving in and finding a comfortable spot on Pru’s shoulder.

Tam laughs, moving to use Pru as a convenient armrest and settling in for the beginning of the movie.

These quiet moments are far and few between, and dealing with Tim and Pru’s shit sometimes makes her wonder if any of it is even worth the work she puts in. But even if these two sometimes annoy her half to death, they are still possibly and ironically her best friends in the world.

So Tam is going to appreciate every second of this.


End file.
